Dusty Friends
Roary spent a great deal of time dusting the bric-a-brac on his shelves. He even went so far as to check the catalogue order of the books on the shelves and run a duster over the shelves and the spines of the books, flicking at the nooks and crannies as if the tiniest speck might be what was causing the grit that seemed stuck in his eye. He rooted around, a bear with a splinter that could not be plucked, nudging everything and accomplishing next to nothing. He did not turn the sign to open. He wasna ready for visitors just yet, though he had apparently forgotten to lock the door behind him when he had stepped out to get a loaf and some steaming coffee from the shop down the way early that morning. He knew this by the sharp ring of the bells announcing his most unwelcome visitor. He emerged from the back row where he had first found Sean curled around the ancient Celtic tales ready to heave a bit of fire on the helpless victim who had wandered in without reading his sign. His spew caught in his throat as he found himself looking into Padraig's wide grin. Not that this would normally have stopped him, but a wide grin on Padraig's face before the lunch crowd had run through the Pub was not a typical sight. In fact, the blank almost grim look that the man normally wore until his till was full for the first round of the day was something you could definitely count on. Seeing the smiling visage was definitely an affront to nature as Roary knew it, and that was what gave him, and his wayward tongue, pause.
"I saw ye were in, though the sign said ye weren't open. I figured that wouldna stand between us though, since I'm not here to shop, and you'd no be expectin' me to. It's a brau day, Roary, a fine brau day. Surely ye do not mean to be stayin here with yer books, flickin' yer feather poker about rather than showin' the fine folk yer back and exchangin' a few pleasantries?"
Roary looked at the barkeep, one bushy brow raised in mock alarm. "So, it's ye that is comin to suggest I keep my civil head about me, abandon me shop and take a tour to let the town see me now as I am back? Now that has some cheek in it. I didna think you ken a fash what the neighbors thought about anything 'til after they made their decision about what to purchase for supper or dinner at the pub."
"What's turned yer hide so hard? 'Twas a day ye would have been all too pleased to see me participatin' or at least thinkin about participatin' in the morning stroll about town, giddy ol' ladies and all."
"Aye, but only for the sheer wonder on the ladies' faces, mind ye." Roary relaxed into a smile. "Get ye some tea?"
"I've not the time for a cup. On my way to visit me charge down at the strand. I know he doesna need my help so much anymore, but I like to find time to stop by just in case there comes a need."
Roary looked up at him from under his brows. "I'm sorry to have to tell ye, Padraig, but the swans, they're gone."
"Gone?"
"Aye, happened yesterday when we got back in. They were all three of them together and it seems they finally decided it was time to take flight. We would have come for ye, but it all happened so fast. 'Twas no time once they decided to go to summon anyone."
"Och, well, I've no doubt that crazy bird will remember me. He's likely got a piece or two floating through his system with all the nips he took out of me," laughed Padraig. His eyes were a bit misted though, thought Roary. Odd, but as much as he had known he could trust Padraig to take good care of the bird, it had never occurred to him that the man would become attached. The old softy, he was going to miss his charge.
"Aye, well, mayhap ye should be thinking about getting a pet of yer own then?"
Padraig's smile shifted a bit to the side, more to a rakish, almost boyish grin. "Aye a pet might be just the thing. Well, I best be getting along. I'm sure there are things to tend to off at the pub. See ye there for dinner tonight?"
"Always a possibility," laughed Roary as he let Padraig out and dimmed the lights. He had spent enough time out front. He made his way to the back of the shop for a cup of tea and a quiet dose of melancholy.
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